Red Pearls
by Painted Violets
Summary: Voices beg Alfred to just do it, to win this war in one swoop, but to do that, what is he willing to sacrifice? Arthur was his king, and his people had commanded him to die. (Rev. War fic, has major character death, USUK if you squint) Rated T for slight swearing and drugging.


**Hey guys, this is the first thing I've decided to put up on here, currently it's a one-shot, but there may be later chapters if there's a lot of readers. Yes, both Alfred and Arthur are a bit insane in this, but who isn't during war? _Please_, review if you like it, it gives me motivation to continue! :)**

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Arthur was angry, and had not been this _angry_ in a very, very long time. If you didn't know him his anger would be a surprise, his cold and collected face and the way he squared his shoulders to make himself larger _terrified _those who did know him. It was the presence around him, how he would look down at you with those frosted green eyes and just frown ever so slightly until everything within you gave in and you fell at the ground for his forgiveness.

But his anger was never actually directed towards Alfred ever, but when it finally was something inside Alfred snapped and for the first time in a long time, he had _doubts _of what he was doing. Revolution was a big step, and when Arthur looked at him like that, he wasn't sure he wanted to face that.

Loyalist's thoughts and fear flittered throughout his head, some concern stronger than others. He clutched his head, looking into nothing.

There was a slight touch to his shoulder, and he was yanked back into the present. He blinked twice, looking up at the older nation. They were sitting in his office in the cottage, sun flowing through the windows and hitting the deep red carpet. It was concerning that he hadn't remembered sitting down on one of the wooden seats, or that Arthur had bothered standing up.

"What are you thinking Alfred?" Arthur asked, kneeling down beside him. The anger left as soon as it came, and now there was only old, tiredness coming off him from waves. Alfred didn't exactly know how to answer. One day he felt such hatred for the older nation that it hurt, and other days he just felt so guilty that he couldn't even move. _It was terrifying and he hated what was happening to him_.

"I don't know." He answered truthfully, and looked into the other's eyes. "I don't know what to do and my head hurts all the damn _time_."

Something seemed to click for England, because he smiled one of those infuriating 'of course you know nothing' smiles, and patted him on the head.

"Of course you poor boy, your thoughts must be horribly jumbled. How about I make some tea?" He brushed non-existent dust off his coat and turned towards the door, waiting for his answer.

"I don't want your disgusting-"Alfred started, but when a wave of pain hit his head, all he could was try not to gasp in pain.

"It's all right, I understand." Arthur said calmly, and exited the room without another word.

Alfred dug his feet into the carpet and tried to contain his anger.

Arthur was trying to direct his anger to the men who were doing this to Alfred, but every time the boy showed some sort of defiance it made Arthur so irrational that he couldn't think. Being the mature one in this situation was not easy, but he knew that if he didn't show anything but calmness, Alfred would surely use it against him.

He made the tea anyway, falling back into the old comforting routine. He tried to remember that this wasn't the colonies fault, but the men who had filled his head with lies. He was glad for the loyalists of America that kept America's emotions in check, and made him see sense in things. Having rational people in this place was a god send.

When he got word of uprising in the colonies, all he could picture was a terrified, upset Alfred, wishing he was there, and wondering _why _Arthur wasn't there. It was heart wrenching and made him feel so terrible that he went for him right away, preparing for the worst.

So when instead he found Alfred in a horrible rage, it shocked him into using a tone that was pure anger, and when that had worked, the headaches began. He himself faintly remembered having splitting migraines whenever there was terrible discord in his land, and couldn't help but feel bad for his colony.

"Arthur?" A voice trembled behind him, and with a sigh he turned around, finding Alfred hovering in the doorway. His face was deathly pale, and his legs were trembling. He set the tea down, letting calm wash over him.

"Oh Alfred, what's wrong?" He asked, but he _knew_ what was wrong. It just made him feel batter to know that Alfred still needed him, still needed him to tell him what to do in these situations. _You're twisted _an inner voice spat, and he readily responded, _I know._

"I have no idea what to do. Make the voices stop." He begged, leaning up against a chair. "_My head hurts_."

"I can make it go away," he replied smoothly, "all you need to do is drink your tea." He reached into the herb cabinet, and pulled out a tiny bottle of red crystals. He put a few in, stirring the steaming tea until the rocks dissolved.

He wasn't planning to poison him of course, just let his thoughts clear. Then he would see the truth, and all of this would finally be over and done with. It made him feel glad that he had brought the rocks with him from his home, and mentally praised himself for being prepared.

"Promise?" Alfred reached for it like a lifeline, and Arthur felt something cold slither through him.

"Of course, poppet. Now just sit there and drink up." He turned away, letting himself smile in victory. Some might say it was cruel, but how was he supposed to stop this rebellion? By pulling out the root of the problem of course.

After a couple minutes of sipping, the boy started to slip, letting the cup clatter to the floor and smash to pieces.

"Arthur, what-?" He started, but never finished. He slumped against the table, head rolling. Arthur _tsked_, picking up the pieces and throwing them away. He sighed at the other's unconscious form, and wondered how he was supposed to get him from here to his room.

Oh yes, the adventures of drugging others.

His head hurt and he felt like shit. His brain felt cleared though, so he guessed that whatever Arthur put in that dumb tea worked. He didn't know if he should feel angry or glad that his head was no longer pounding. I mean, the ass did drug him without saying anything.

It made him a bit scared of Arthur, knowing that he would drug him without a second thought. What if had been poison instead? He wouldn't have stayed dead for long, but time would have continued, and the war could have been over when he woke up again.

His eyes fluttered open, thankful that there was barely any light coming through the covered window. The house was silent, save for the wind creaking through the floorboards. It was a bit unsettling, and he had a strong urge to get up and find himself some coffee.

He slipped from the bed, feet padding quietly against the floor. The door creaked open, Alfred sliding into the hallway and creeping towards the kitchen. He didn't want to face England like this, his mind clear and his feelings his own.

It made him sad, but he knew what he had to do. In the kitchen there was no coffee to be found, and only the faint smell of burnt food, probably left over from dinner. He crinkled his nose, opening the herb cabinet and looking far, far back.

Where he had left it was a bottle of pale pearls, which was actually crystalized poison. He remembered buying this from an old woman in the slums, who had promised that it could kill anyone, even immortals.

He was going to kill England, no, Arthur, and parts of him had no idea why. But he could hear the screaming of his people, begging for freedom and the death of the king.

Arthur was his king, and the people had commanded him to death.

With shaking hands he put the pearl in the kettle, ready for whenever Arthur boiled his water. At least he didn't have to hand his death to him. He could almost see his dead body already and the look of hatred and betrayal in his eyes. He stopped for a second, looking and the deadly pearl. Could he really do this?

But with a start he looked around, noticing that the sun was starting to rise, and quickly went back to his room, burying under the covers and trying not to let his emotions get to him. This was for freedom, he told himself, this is for the people.

But Arthur's haunting smiles finally caught up to him, and he couldn't help but cry over lost memories. Of summer, of warm hugs and the stories of stars and past heroes. It was like a song he had forgotten, and the tune was gone from his memory.

Arthur woke up with the feeling of pain in his bones. They ached as he got up, creaked even as he poured the water into the kettle, and just plain _hurt_ as he put the tea in the water. It made him feel like there was something enormously wrong, so he set the steaming cup of tea down and went to go and check on Alfred.

He opened the door slowly, careful not to make a sound. There was nothing but slow, deep breathing, and the older nation couldn't help but smile. This was what he was fighting for, even if Alfred didn't understand that now. He would in the future, and obviously be grateful.

He closed the door shut, and if he had just stayed a second later he would have noticed that the American wasn't sleeping, but crying.

He padded back to the kitchen, picking up the warm cup and sipping on it slowly. For some reason it tasted sweeter than usual, and he wondered if he had put too much sugar in it. He sighed, letting the tea calm his nerves. He felt serene and at peace for the first time in a long while.

Five minutes later and he knew that there was something wrong with the tea, but by that time it was too late. He let the cup smash to the floor, and dazedly thought to himself that he needed to buy a new set soon. He slumped against the chair, head resting on his shoulder.

A second later Alfred wondered in, and stood there looking at him in horror. It made him feel mildly concerned to see him so upset, but whatever was in the tea wouldn't let his emotions fully surface.

"I'm sorry." He said quickly, and delicately made his way to the other nation. "I'm sorry." He repeated, and kneeled down next Arthur.

"Alfred, everything's-" He sighed, and felt darkness tugging at him.

"I had to, their thoughts _demanded _it, I'm so, so sorry-" He babbled, resting his head next to Arthur's. "_I just wanted to be free_."

His thoughts started to blur, and all he could do was pat his head, trying to make the younger feel better. This seemed to make it worse, and soon he was crying and clutching at his hand. Arthur was so confused, what was making America so upset? He was just going to sleep; it wasn't a big deal-

_Oh, so that's what's happening._

He suddenly understood, and felt his body go cold. Alfred, _his Alfred_, had poisoned him. It made him feel a deep sense of grief, and his thoughts cleared. He had pushed him to this, if only he had seen it sooner, _of course_. So these were his true feelings, and apparently the want for freedom was greater than the love he had for Arthur. It was terrifying and horrible and the same time.

"Someday we'll meet again, I swear." Alfred hiccupped, and smoothed back Arthur's golden hair. "It will just be a really, really long sleep, I'll even ship you back to your country, I swear."

"Alfred…" He whispered, and felt his eyes start to close.

"_I love you_."

And the world went black and there was nothing more.

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**Disclaimer: I obviously don't own Hetalia u w u**

_**- Talia**_


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